I Love Paris (Paris, part 1)

Ah, Paris, the city of lights. It is one of my favourite cities, dear reader, but you know that already. Today's song title is of no surprise, I Love Paris by Lady Ella. Enjoy a classic from 1956. It is good to be back and to have some time to wind down after the occasionally frenetic pace we carved from the tip of Norway to the capital of France.

It may be spring and there are flowers, but the weather is under the influence of intermittent sunshine with a northerly wind so the maximum temperature is not expected to exceed 13°. The thermals have yet to be broken out, but it's probably not far away. For Jayne at least.

Without breakfast provisions, we made our way to Rue Mouffetard, a well known restaurant strip, to discover breakfast wasn't really their thing. Early mornings really aren't a thing in Paris, unless you are on your way home. Eventually we came across a café and went inside. Only smokers eat outdoors at this time of the year. We were welcomed in but the proprietor was quick to point out there was only 1 croissant left. Breakfast was shared, a croissant and baguette with jam and coffee.

A spring daffodil.

Body and soul restored, we headed towards the river via the Jardin des Plantes. I spent time here in 2012, by myself. No need to go over old ground, but previous posts cover that time in France, if you're interested in history.

A classic Japanese Maple.

We emerged on the left bank of the Seine and walked towards Notre Dame, a phoenix, rising from the ashes of the 2019 fire and now with the scaffolding that surrounds the reconstruction/restoration.

On we went past the famous 'lock bridge' or Pont des Arts and crossed the Seine on the Pont du Carrousel. You might think we were just wandering like random tourists ticking boxes for the famous sights of Paris. However, you would be wrong. We were remembering Paris. And also moving ever closer towards the Pandora store. 

The map located Pandora at the Arc de Triomphe Carrousel. We arrived to find the area swathed in scaffold and protective fencing. Disappointed, we sat and rested and watched the huge crowd in the square lining up for entrance to the Louvre. I estimate I have spent close to two full days in the Louvre and have still not seen everything. Today it was definitely a 'no go zone'.

"The crowds upon the pavement were like fields of harvest wheat."

While we were enjoying fleeting moments of sun, an American couple came to join us on our marble slab, mistakenly thinking we were waiting for the same Louvre guided tour as them. We chatted about Paris and things to see.

After they were called away to head into the maelstrom of bodies that was the Louvre, we departed through the archway that wasn't river side. There was police van after van, lined up on the street for no apparent reason. Dodging the continual incoming tide of people and school groups (no, they are not people) we stumbled across the entrance to the Carrousel du Louvre shopping precinct. Underground.

Police operation or lunch?

That is why my map showed us sitting on top of the Pandora store. Tricky. Down the escalator into more crowds of school groups. Seriously. Is there even one child in Europe in a classroom? Are teachers paid to be tour guides? After bravely shouldering through several groups, we found eldorado. Well, Pandora.

Shopping in tourist areas in Paris is like unarmed combat. Once the marauding tribes of paired school children had left the store - after the girls had shown the boys what they should purchase, we had to battle the entitled generation. They moved in pairs and crowded either side of us as we looked at the charms. When we didn't move, they started a conversation across us by leaning over the cabinet and obscuring our view.

La Tour Eiffel across the love lock bridge.

Enough. We moved. And in doing so were served. Win. And Jayne found a charm for her bracelet. This was a watershed. It was bigger than November 11, 1975, bigger than March 5, 1983, bigger than ... you get the picture. In a never seen before event, Jayne selected a charm that would dangle from her bracelet!

On our way back to reality, we passed a tourist information booth and acquired a map of Paris, albeit a Japanese one. As an old bushwalker, I still prefer a paper map.

Pont des Arts.

The Pont des Arts is probably better known as the Lock Bridge. It was the bridge where people demonstrated their undying love to each other by putting their names on a padlock, locking it onto the bridge and throwing the key into the Seine. We did it 2013 and we're still together so clearly it works. As the weight of the locks was thought to be compromising the integrity of the bridge, the locks have since been removed, more than once by the authorities.

The panels where a lock could be placed have since gone and sheets of perspex now exist. Some decorated. Not to be deterred, the lovers in Paris now attach locks to whatever they can. On any bridge or structure. On the Pont des Arts, they have placed bicycle locks around lamp posts and placed their love locks there. Others now adorn the metal garden fences in the courtyard out the front of Notre Dame. Paris is civil disobedience. Love it.

Love will triumph.

We paused to rest on one of the marble blocks on Pont Neuf as we began our walk home. We'd not been there long when some grumpy old man muttered things in French to Jayne I couldn't understand and gesticulated for us to move. And so we did, a few marble blocks away and we watched as he set up his 'art works' and easel. He was one of those 'artists' whose talents were yet to be recognised and so painted garishly coloured pictures of the surrounds. A latter day Monet. Bahahahaha. Angry old man.

While we watched, he berated several passers-by for stepping too close to his 'artworks'. Given he doesn't pay the government to occupy this spot, I thought his behaviour beyond the pale. The best bit was when he was so involved in one of his fading watercolours that he failed to notice a passerby stepping on one of his precious paintings. It left an excellent 'watermark' of a size 9 shoe right across the bottom corner of Notre Dame. A precious moment to be savoured for a while yet. My only regret was not being there when he discovered the footprint. And no, it was not me, dear reader, I am a size 7.

The Tree of a Thousand Voices on the Carousel Bridge.

Our return walk took us again through the gardens and then home for a well-earned champagne to celebrate being back in Paris. After that it was time to seek out a dinner venue from among the multiple options close by.  While at first glance, we were spoilt for choice, it was not as simple as we thought. Most restaurants had extremely similar menus and, if you liked tartare or burgers, you were in foodie heaven. Neither is really high on our list of dining-out must-haves. So, the quest morphed into finding a place that offered appealing alternatives.

I expected better.

Eventually, we selected a small and well-patronised place that had both steak and lamb (cooked) on a fixed price menu that offered a main with either an entrée or a dessert. Our meals were ok but not great - nowhere to hide with a steak and a lamb chop. The steak was a cheaper cut and the lamb was not very succulent. We have high expectations of food in France and this was not in keeping with our standards, based on previous experiences.

As we were enjoying the last of our wine, a school group emerged from the other end of the restaurant. Reminiscent of the a scene from Mary Poppins as she continually extracted items from her carpet bag, the students kept coming through the restaurant, to gather on the street outside our window view. Our fellow diners all stopped to watch the passing parade. Finally, all present, two teachers formed what I would refer to as a wedding arch and the students went through the arch and continued down the street. Hopefully never to be seen again. Just like in the Pied Piper fairy tale.

The evening's entertainment over, we returned to our dessert. The crowd in the restaurant thinned and the street quietened. Cultured people like to dine early and we'll be home before the rabble rousers emerge. At least tonight.

À demain.